Unloved
by InEternalDarkness
Summary: They say the dementors gave Sirius his lifeless look... what if some of the other prisoners in Azkaban helped? MATURE. Like... NC-17 mature. So it's not for the kiddies, alright?


Unloved

Even in Azkaban, they had to let us shower sometime. Once a month. Or maybe two. Hell, it could have been every week. Eventually, the time just went by in a blur and all I could tell was the years. Year one… year two… Occasionally, I caught sight of a newspaper from someone visiting and got a date… but we're getting off track.

The showers.

Of course, the water was cold, the soap stung the skin wherever it made contact, and usually we were all in one big, giant group of men (and a few women… if you can call my cousin Bellatrix a woman… though now that I think of it, perhaps the women showered at a different time… as I said, life in Azkaban was a blur of pain and despair and thinking 'I'm innocent' so I wouldn't go insane) scrambling to get clean and back in their cells, where at least the dementors weren't swooping overhead, making everything all that more depressing… Needless to say, it wasn't the most enjoyable activity in Azkaban… for most of the prisoners.

"Y'know, Black, it's _amazing_ what the dementors let us get away with in here."

The purr in my ear made my blood as cold as the shower water, but before I could slip away, I was sandwiched between the two brothers. Rabastan and Rodolphus. Lovely, more cousins (see, this is the problem with being pureblood, nearly every other pureblood is a brother, a cousin, an uncle…). I tried in vain to slip away, but Rabastan already had my arms pinned behind my back, Rodolphus groping as many parts of me as possible while his lips and teeth attacked my neck.

This had happened before, that's one thing I'm able to remember.

It never became any more enjoyable. Maybe the first time, since I'd had so little contact with others… but after that, it became boring. I numbed myself to it.

But at that moment, they'd come up with a new game, involving more than two powerful, masculine bodies pinning my slightly more lanky form… This time, they added another potential component of pain.

Rope.

I don't know where they got it—usually, I would assume that the dementors would keep away anything that we could kill ourselves with, so many people so despairing that they would commit suicide rather than get the Kiss—but there it was, there Rabastan was making sure my hands were tied, my arms too, for good measure I supposed. Some of the other prisoners were watching by then, but they didn't move to stop them. This was a show, something that excited them, something the dementors were granting them because it gave them more despair to feed off of later.

And perhaps, in some ways, the dementors enjoyed it too.

The rope rubbed painfully against my wrists as I continued to struggle, but I liked the pain. It meant I could still feel, no matter if I would be bleeding later. If I could admit it to myself, I would say that I enjoyed those little incidents in the showers. Who could hold that against me?

Most of the time, I held it against myself. How lost was I, to enjoy _that?_

Rabastan was pressed flush against my back (as best as he could be, anyway, with my hands tied back), hands resting on my hips and keeping me pressed against him while he kissed my neck. If I didn't know better, if I didn't absolutely hate these two and know that the feeling was mutual, I would have called it almost affectionate. Maybe he was insane too.

I say maybe… but we were all insane there.

Rodolphus rested one hand on my shoulder blade, pressing closer, still attacking my neck (he was much rougher than his brother in this sense, more insistent), and a sound caught in my throat as he began to pinch and tease my nipples. They both gave low snickers, hands exploring, brushing spots they'd found and memorized long ago. Soon enough I couldn't keep back the sounds they caused, though I tried my best. All the same, they knew I was enjoying it, or that my body was…

Rabastan's hand twisted into my hair and jerked my head to the side, hard enough to be painful, and bit my neck, sucking almost hungrily on the skin. Obviously, even he was getting impatient. The way he suddenly grabbed my manhood, pumping roughly and pulling a sharp cry from my throat… By the time they moved on to anything deeper than touching, we all three wanted it. It was obvious.

And I hated myself for it. Don't get me wrong, it wasn't that I had a problem, having sex with men. It was the atmosphere, the fact that it was forced and I _liked_ that it was forced that sickened me.

I closed my eyes for just a moment and felt Rodolphus pull back, just enough room for Rabastan to force me down into a doubled-over position. I opened my eyes… well, it wasn't like I didn't expect to be facing the proof of Rodolphus's arousal. His hand grabbed my chin and forced my mouth open, and just as he forced himself into my mouth, Rabastan entered me from behind, no preparation, nothing but the cold water flowing over us for lubrication. I might have screamed from the pain if my mouth hadn't been busy. It didn't take much to dissolve into a sort of (and yes, to me, sickening) pleasure for me—in some ways, being dominated every once in a while wasn't that bad. Now, there was a chance that if I ever got out of Azkaban, I would never want it again…

Anyway, so it went. They had their fun with me, and in the middle of it I went numb again. I barely even registered it when Rabastan began pleasuring me again. And, like always, they ended it the same way: I was thrown on the ground at the last second, groaning as I came, and they gave themselves the last few pumps they needed before they came over me, trying to humiliate me as much as they could… but I was still numb. Once they untied me and walked off, satisfied with themselves and what they'd done, I got up, having just enough time to rinse myself off before the dementors started dragging us back to our cells.

Needless to say, I felt no love while I was in Azkaban. If anything, by the time I got out, I would be immune to the emotion, maybe to all emotions.

Only time would tell.


End file.
